


A Moderately-Sized Country

by Marvelite5Ever



Series: Bodyslide Mishaps [2]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Did I mention that there's fluff?, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Nate's attempted sacrifice doesn't work, No smut just fluff and kisses sorry, Post- Cable & Deadpool #42, SO MUCH FLUFF, Therefore Nate is still alive, and kisses, feel-good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelite5Ever/pseuds/Marvelite5Ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU that takes place at the end of Cable & Deadpool #42, where it turns out that they're still connected by the bodyslide and so Nate is teleported to Wade's apartment as well, and therefore doesn't die, even though at first Wade thinks he's going to. And there's ridiculously sweet, fluffy Cablepool. Be warned.</p>
<p>Normally I don't write things this fluffy I swear, but my sister requested it. </p>
<p>You'll see where the title came from when (if) you read it.</p>
<p>Sequel to "Dynamic Duo (Bodyslide by Two)," though it's not necessary to read that story to enjoy this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moderately-Sized Country

**Author's Note:**

> My sister and I read the Cable & Deadpool series recently (well, I reread it, and she read it for the first time), and she wanted to see a happy ending where Cable doesn't die at the end of issue #42, and who am I to deny my wonderful sister such a thing?
> 
> Seriously though, I normally don't write anything this fluffy. I like angst. But my sister likes fluff. So fluff it is. I think I got cavities writing this.
> 
> And then I wasn't even going to post it, but my sister asked me to. Probably because it would be easier to read on this site than sent in an email. Or something. 
> 
> I'm perfectly aware that this isn't the kind of story that really gets posted or read on this site, but... I dunno, just in case even /one person/ out there reads this /sometime/ and enjoys it even a /little/ bit, here it is! Yay!

“Bodyslide by one.” 

Deadpool felt the familiar sensation of the teleport as the world went white and his body slipped into a strange nothingness just before the island of Providence exploded. 

“NATE!”

Only, then there was a harsh, tugging pain in his body that he hadn't felt in a while, and when the world solidified around him, he found that Nate had been teleported as well—and, once again, their bodies had been melded together. 

“Dammit, Nate, you're supposed to say 'bodyslide by TWO' you son of a—”

“Sorry...” Nate groaned, voice coming feebly even as they tore apart—or more accurately, Deadpool tore himself out of Nate, since the white-haired mutant was, it seemed, about to drop dead (hopefully only figuratively, rather than literally, but it was hard to tell) from exhaustion. “Didn't think... that would happen... didn't plan... on surviving...” 

“You're an absolutely idiot, you know that right?!” Deadpool demanded as he healing factor knit himself back together, while Cable's T-O did the same for him. “You're not supposed to die, then OR now!”  
Setting the statue down, Wade knelt down by Cable's side. “Were you seriously going to sacrifice yourself saving me you #@$%^ #&*^$?!” 

Nate smiled at him, even as his eyes drifted closed. “You're... worth it, Wade...” 

“No, I'm not!” Deadpool yelled, panicking. “You know that I'm not!” 

Unsure of what he could possibly do to help, he pulled Nate's head into his lap, stroking red-gloved fingers through the man's white hair. It was a nervous habit, really—nothing more.  
“Damn it, Nate, are you dying?!” Wade demanded, voice hard but touches gentle. “You're not allowed to die! I won't allow it!” 

Eyes closed, Nate was still smiling, sadly, softly, resignedly. 

“Dammit Nate I don't want you to die!” Deadpool shouted. “What do I do? You're not bleeding, but you seem injured. Do I need to call a doctor? I will if you need one, but I'd really, really rather not if we don't have to, because I really fucking hate doctors, Nate! And if you're injured enough that I need to call a doctor, then you better tell me now so I can call the fucking doctor so you can get healed up so I can then yell at you for making me call a $#@%^& doctor!” 

What was probably supposed to be a laugh turned into a cough, and Nate weakly groaned out: “No... doctors...”

“Okay, okay, no doctors,” Deadpool rambled. “Do I need to strip you and apply first-aid? Because normally I'd be totally okay with the first one under better circumstances that are sexier and less life threatening, but I actually never need to do the second one, because first-aid's kinda pointless where I'm concerned, but I'm sure I could figure it out—it can't be that hard, right?” 

Nate's only reply was a groan, his head limp in Deadpool's lamp. Wade's fingers carded faster through his hair.

“Nate? Nate-y Nate? Talk to me, please? You know normally I'm totally cool with doing all the talking and letting you do the listening, but right now I'd feel a whoooooole lot better if you'd say something.”  
Deadpool leaned his head down over Cable's chest to make sure he was still breathing. 

“Hey Nate? Do I need to mix some of my blood with yours again, so that you can borrow my healing factor, and hopefully not get the cancer along with it? I'd just hate for your beautiful face to be affected with my Condition of Ugliness. Nate? Naaaaaate?” 

Nate wasn't answer. Still breathing, though, and his heart was still beating—was his heart metal, Deadpool wondered?—so there was that. 

“Nate, you better not fucking die on me!” Deadpool growled, and it was all he could do to keep himself from clenching a fist in the man's hair. “You still haven't met my new friend, Bob! Did you hear that? I made a new friend! You should be proud of me! You need to meet him—I think you'd like him! He's like me, except cuter, less violent, more cowardly, and much more prone to shouting 'Hail Hydra!' at random intervals.” 

Nate might've moaned something—but maybe it was just Wade's hopeful imagination. 

“Nate-y Nate? Did you say something, honeybunch? Because you'll need to speak a bit louder than that, and if you don't talk, then you know I'm just going to keep talking, because I talk when I'm nervous, and when I'm kind-of-maybe-afraid-except-in-a-manly-way, and when I'm angry, and when I'm freaking out, and when it's too quiet and nobody else is talking, and also when I'm happy, but I'm definitely not happy right now, Nate!” 

Nate was either dead or asleep, and Wade was too afraid to check (yes, Wade Wilson was afraid) and so he just kept talking, hoping that Nate was only asleep. 

“You know, Nate, you're probably the only person to ever think that my voice is beautiful. And I know for a fact that you are the only person to tell me, quite specifically, not to shut up. So I'm just gonna take that permission and not shut up right now, because I'm kinda feeling like if I stop talking I'm gonna start crying, and I fucking hate crying—seriously, I can't watch The Titanic anymore—and I'm pretty sure today has ruined me from ever seeing that movie again ever because there are just too many parallels to be acceptable and—who the hell said you got to be Jack Dawson and I had to be Rose DeWitt Bukater?! Because I should be Jack and you should be Rose, because if I die, I'll come right back before you can even start planning my funeral!” 

Nate was unresponsive, and Wade couldn't tell if his body was turning cold, of if he just felt cold because Wade was touching parts of him that were made of metal. 

“You know, Nate, so earlier in the narration of this story I was wondering if your heart had become infected with the T-O Virus, which at first I totally ruled out because there's no way you could have a metal heart and still be so fucking kind and big-hearted and shit, but now I'm starting to think that your heart is made of metal, cuz nobody with a real heart could be so cruel as to die on me like this and leave me alone with no friends except for Weasel and Bob. And Weasel might be dead because he got captured by a Hydra facility, and Bob is more of pet material than friend material, and I'm really starting to wonder what I was to you, you know?” 

Deadpool was afraid to touch Nate's skin, or even to look at him, just in case he actually was dead and would start feeling like it and looking like it, so he screwed his eyes shut behind his mask and kept running his fingers through Nate's hair. Even though Nate was basically half in Deadpool's lap, his legs had already gone numb, so he couldn't feel temperature there anymore. 

“Dammit, Nate, I really, really don't want you to be dead, and you know I have an awful sense of time, so I might just sit here talking to you and not know you're dead until you start smelling, or until somebody walks in on this, and I might actually be crying by then, and that would be hella fucking embarrassing, so you gotta be alive for me, okay Nate? We never even got a chance to kiss the way manly lovers should! And I also never got the chance to tell you in person that I'm sorry—I'm sorry, Nate, for everything, and you need to be alive so that you can get up and punch me in the face for being so stupid all the time, because sometimes I can't tell where the act stops and my real stupidity begins, and Nate don't be dead! I will seriously talk for hours if I have too. Maybe I should sing something. Do you want me to sing something, Nate? I'm told I have a very good singing voice when I don't murder the tune, and I may not be as attractive in the nude as Demi Moore, but I got everything sexy about her voice, right?” 

Wade's eyes were stinging, and he clenched them tighter. His voice hitched slightly. “Nate, seriously. This is not cool. This is not @#%$^$ cool. You gotta be alive, ya hear me? Cuz if you're dead, if you're actually #@$% dead, I swear I'm going to get to heaven on a washing machine and kill you so dead your father will feel it. And then I could get rid of Cyclops, and hit two birds with one machine gun.” 

The harbinger to a sob hitched in Wade's chest. 

“You're gonna open your eyes again, right, Nate? Has anybody ever told you that you have beautiful eyes? Sometimes they're both a pretty blue, and sometimes only the one is, and the other one's kinda glowy and off-white, and it can be creepy in a really cool way, and I like the way it brings other people to the verge of pissing their pants.” 

Wade refused to believe that the reason his body was shaking was because he was sobbing. No, it had to be an earthquake or something, or maybe his muscles had done the impossible-for-him and started trembling from exhaustion—that was all much more likely than Dead-$#%&^@-pool crying over some wannabe Jesus who had blown his mind—literally—with a single thought. 

“You know what, Nate?! I'm not going to miss you! I'm really, really not! I'm not all going to miss sparring with you, or trying to talk your ears off and finding it unusually difficult, or our bodyslide mishaps, or the way you smile, or how ridiculously adorable you look when you're confused and how satisfying it is to confuse you, and I'm definitely not going to miss the way you neither hate me nor fear me, because, believe it or not, I actually like being hated and/or feared by everyone! And you know what else, Nathan Nightfall Bless You Summers?!” 

Wade's mask was annoyingly wet and clinging to his face, so he ripped it off, tossing it across the room without even glancing at it. 

“If it turns out you're dead, I'm not gonna move your heavy-as-$#%!@ body. No, I'm just gonna leave it right here on the dirty floor and then I'm just gonna go find myself a new apartment, and I don't care who finds your body or what they do with it!” 

Wade still refused to open his eyes, even as he bent slightly over Cable's body, and water was itching on his face like it was raining. Only he was inside, so it couldn't be raining. 

He didn't realize he was crying until he felt a warm thumb brushing the tears from his cheeks. 

Opening his eyes, Wade looked right into Nate's smiling blue ones, as Nate wiped away his tears with his flesh hand, seeming completely undisturbed by waking up to Wade's monstrous, uglier-than-hell face. 

“Were you really crying for me?” Nate asked softly, his smile curling towards a smirk. 

“No!” Wade snapped, rubbing furiously at his eyes. “I was most definitely not crying for you! I was crying over the fact that if you were dead I was gonna have to get a new apartment—do you even know how hard it is to find an apartment in New York City?!” 

Nate hummed, letting his hand drop back to his side as he closed his eyes again and relaxed against the mercenary. 

Wade narrowed his eyes at him. “...How long were you awake?” he asked suspiciously. 

Nate's lips curved upwards slightly. “Not very...” 

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Wade said, finally lapsing into silence. His hand started carding through Nate's short white hair again. 

“I care about you too, Wade,” Nate said softly, opening his eyes again so he could hold Wade's gaze. “I consider you a friend. And you'll always be worth it.” 

“Stop,” Wade growled out, voice low and rough, looking away. 

“I'm serious, Wade—”

“So am I! And I swear, Priscilla, if you say anything else that's super sappy, I am going to throw up the pancakes I ate this morning all over your %$#^@& face.” 

Nate chuckled weakly, letting his eyes close again. “You know, for someone who craves love and affection, you really do your best to make everyone hate you.”

“Hurts less that way,” Wade grunted out, still not looking at him, even though he was sprawled in his lap, and there wasn't much else to look at but his beat-up old couch and the cracked ceiling. 

Nate's flesh hand found the hand that Wade wasn't carding through his hair, squeezing slightly. 

Wade stiffened. 

Then, after a moment, Wade let out a sigh, like all the fight was leaving him, and squeezed back. 

Eyes still closed, Nate smiled. 

xXx

Nate woke up again with a jerk, sitting bolt upright and—

“Ow!” Wade exclaimed, rubbing his chin where Nate had hit it, glaring at him. “What kind of a way is that to treat the guy who just spent the last several hours as your personal pillow?” 

“What time is it?” Nate asked, glancing around the room for a clock. “What day is it?” 

“Calm down, Priscy,” Wade grunted, still rubbing at his jaw. “Geez your head is hard. What the hell is it made out of? Metal?” 

“I have to go—” Nate started, beginning to push himself into an upright position and gather his legs under him. 

“You're not going anywhere!” Wade snapped at him, trying to lunge for him, only to plant spectacularly on his face since his legs were being decidedly uncooperative and not working at all. “Damn legs! Wake up already!” 

“I have to tell Irene—Domino—I have to see if Rogue is alright—I have to—” Nate continued, starting to get to his feet. 

“Oh no you don't!” Deadpool snapped, whipping out a dagger from seemingly nowhere and lunging again, impaling the knife straight through—

Nate's shirt, effectively pinning him to the floor. 

Jerked back from his standing attempt, Nate turned his head to look at the knife pinning his shirt to the floor, frowning at it as if he couldn't figure out where the hell it had come from. 

“No going anywhere for you,” Deadpool scolded, standing up and stretching, before looking down to glare at the exhausted, confused-looking Nate. “You have nowhere you need to be and nothing you need to do. Everybody thinks you're dead, anyway, so nobody has an expectations of you that you need to fulfill.” 

“But—!” Nate started to protest. 

“No buts!” Wade snapped at him, waving a finger in his face. “We can have butts, but no buts, got it?”

“No,” Nate stated, even as Wade, still dressed in his Deadpool costume, except for the mask which was discarded in distant corner of the room, disappeared around a corner. 

He returned hardly a moment later with a glass of water, handing it to Nate. 

“Drink,” Wade ordered. 

Nate, suddenly realizing that he was parched, did so. 

“Take it easy there, big man,” Wade suggested, pulling the glass away from him for a moment. “Drink slowly so you don't barf it up all over my beautiful, spotless floor, okay?” 

Nate snorted as he glanced around at the very dirty, trash-covered floor, before taking back the glass, drinking slower. 

“That's my man,” Wade grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “Now you should probably sleep some more. You still look like total $#!%.” 

Nate gave another snort as he set the water glass down. 

“C'mon,” Wade said, kneeling down beside him and pulling his metal arm over his shoulder. “Let's get you to the bed, huh? I promise it's not as dirty as the rest of the house—I hardly use the bed anyway, mostly just stay on the couch—”

“No, I really—” Nate said, trying to pull away, only for his knees to buckle. His eyelids drooped heavily as Wade pretty much dragged him down the hallway towards the bedroom. “You... drugged me...?” Nate slurred out, barely able to keep his eyes open at all. 

Wade shrugged as he let Nate down on the edge of the bed, pushing at him to get him all the way on. “You need sleep, and I have a ton of codeine lying around to reduce pain and induce sleep, so it wasn't a problem to give you a little bit—I mean I have a ton of the stuff lying around, cuz I have to take a ridiculous amount for it to do anything for me—you're a real light-weight when it comes to drugs, y'know that?” 

“Wade, you...” Nate started, only to fall asleep mid-sentence. 

Wade stood back, looking at him. Then he turned and stripped out of his Deadpool suit, pulling on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, about to leave the room, fully intending on heading out to the couch to numb his mind with some TV, before a soft murmur made him glance back.

“Wade...” Nate's eyes were open to the faintest slivers, and a muscle in his arm twitched, as if he was trying to lift it from the bed. 

Wade stared at him as Nate's head fell limply back against the pillows. 

“Just friendly, manly, platonic cuddles, right?” Deadpool asked Nate, but mostly the room at large, before crossing over and slipping onto the bed, cuddling up against Nate's broad, warm side.  
Nate hummed and shifted closer, his flesh arm wrapping around Wade's shoulders, and Wade let out a sigh as he rest his head on the larger man's chest. 

“Looks like that sleep-inducing, analgesic drug I gave you doesn't work quite as fast as I thought, huh?” 

Nate made a soft sound. 

“What was that, Nate?” Wade asked, lifting his head to look at the other's face. 

Nate pried his eyes open a sliver again, looking back at him. “Talk...” he murmured. 

“You want me to talk?” Wade asked, surprise in his voice. 

With a slight smile, Nate nodded, just as slightly, his eyes falling completely closed again. 

“Wow,” Wade said, brown eyes wide as he looked at his friend with something like wonder. “I don't think anyone's specifically asked me to talk, unless they were evil and trying to torture information out of me. Usually though people try to torture me into not talking, which, let me tell you, never works. I mean, seriously, people, I'm the Merc with a Mouth. What do they think I use my mouth for? Wait, no, don't answer that! You have a dirty, dirty mind, Nathan.” 

There was a rumble in Nate's chest, that Wade felt rather than heard. 

“Hey, so, Nate,” Wade said, letting his head rest on Nate's chest, ear over the other man's heart, “did I tell you how I met Bob? Well, funny story, that, it all started with Rhino—well, actually, if we want to get to the beginning of the story, we'd have to back to our ugly, messy divorce, but I don't want to think about that right now, so we'll just skip ahead to Taskmaster—which is before Rhino, but after our divorce that I'm not talking about—and I'm pretty sure we're both officially calling it a divorce, right, even though we weren't actually ever married and never even kissed? Anyways—so, you know I'm the awesomest, toughest, badassest mercenary out there, right? So I decided to show off a bit and...” 

Nate drifted off to sleep to the sound of Wade's deep, gravelly, Demi Moore rumble regaling him with tales of kicking ass even while severely disadvantaged, and Nate didn't doubt that, even though Wade probably fudged some of the details, the main content was true. 

xXx

Nate woke up with Wade sprawled over his chest, staring at him. 

“Hey Nate!” Wade grinned brightly. “You're awake!” 

Nate started to smile, then he frowned. “You drugged me.” 

“To take away some of the pain and so you could sleep,” Wade rolled his brown eyes. “Not like you gave me much of a choice, Priscilla.” 

Nate looked at him. 

Wade stayed sprawled over his chest, looking probably more relaxed than Nate had ever seen him. 

“Are you going to get off me?” Nate asked, raising a white eyebrow. 

“Wasn't planning on it. For a huge guy made entirely of muscle and metal, and you're actually pretty comfortable,” Wade said, managing a shrug even with his chin resting on his folded arms. “Why? You need to pee or something?” 

“Yes, actually,” Nate said. 

“Fine,” Wade shrugged again, rolling off his chest onto the bed. “Bathroom's down the hall to your right, door on the left.” 

“Thanks,” Nate said, getting up on legs that were shaky for a few moments before he seemed to figure out how to get his limbs back under control, and left the room, having to duck to get through the doorway.

Wade stared at the blank ceiling for a few moments before deciding, all at once, that he wasn't tired and the bed was incredibly uncomfortable and he was hungry, so he jumped up off the bed and walked out to the kitchen, where he started whipping up some pancake batter. 

He didn't actually know what Nate liked to eat for breakfast, but everyone liked good ol' American pancakes, right? 

Nate came back out, wiping his wet hands on a paper towel before tossing it in the garbage that stood in a corner of the kitchen. 

“So,” Wade said as he stirred the bowl of pancake batter, adding in ingredients without measuring. 

Nate raised his eyebrows. “So?” 

“So what are we going to do with you?” Wade asked, flicking the wooden spoon at Nate, consequently splattering pancake batter on his face. 

Nate didn't even flinch, just raised his right hand to wipe the batter off. “What do you mean what are we going to do with me?” 

“Well,” Wade said, keeping his tone as nonchalant as possible as he went back to stirring the bowl of soon-to-be deliciousness, “you just had to give up changing the world in order to save it. So what you've been working on for the past year or however much time passed in the comic has been torn apart, and now you don't have a job again, so what are you going to do about it?”  
Nate licked the pancake batter from his fingers, quite possibly so he didn't have to answer. 

“I mean, what can you do now?” Wade asked, beginning to pour the pancake batter into the frying pans that were now sizzling with melted butter (he was using all four burners on the stove). “What are your options? Can't really start over with that, readers would get bored. You could go back to leading X-Force or whatever, but readers might be bored of that as well, since you've done that a lot. And if you go back to the future, well, that would give you a break from this, I guess. But I think you need a new angle. Gotta rack up some interest, and for that you need new material, y'know?” 

“Oh?” Nate asked, eying the pancakes as Wade flipped them over expertly. “And what would you suggest?” 

“Well,” Wade mused, flipping a few cooked pancakes into the air and catching them on a plate, handing the plate to Nate and gesturing to a bottle of 100% Canadian Maple Syrup that was sitting out on the counter, “have you ever thought about becoming a solo merc-for-hire?” 

Nate, in the middle of pouring maple syrup over stack of pancakes, sent Wade a look. 

“What?!” Wade said, waving the spatula around. “It pays great!” 

“Please don't tell me that's your best idea,” Nate muttered, leaning back against the counter and catching the fork that Wade threw at him, beginning to cut into the pancakes with the side of the fork prongs—who needs knives when you're eating soft, fluffy pancakes, right? 

“Well, you could become a clown,” Wade said with a casual shrug as he poured out more pancake batter, “but then I'd have to kill you.” 

Nate gave a loud bark of a laugh, and Wade sent him a huge grin, brown eyes bright. 

“Okay, seriously now,” Wade pointed the spatula at him again, careful not to splatter him again, “how are the pancakes?” 

Nate chewed a bite slowly, deliberately, looking almost like he was relishing the taste, before swallowing and answering, “Very good, Wade. 10 out of 10, would eat again.” 

It was Wade's turn to laugh, and Nate smiled before taking another bite. 

“Don't you wanna sit down?” Wade asked, looking at him with raised, hairless brows, since Nate was still leaning back against the kitchen counter and holding the plate with his left hand as he used the fork with his right. 

“Where?” Nate asked pointedly after he'd swallowed, gesturing around Wade's sparse apartment. “You don't appear to have a dining table. Or any chairs.” 

“There's a couch,” Wade blinked. 

Nate smiled slightly. “I'm fine here, thanks.” 

“Whatever you say, big man,” Wade shrugged, flipping pancakes into the air so that they almost hit the ceiling. 

xXx

“Okay, seriously-seriously though,” Wade said, taking his own plate of pancakes and hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter next to where Nate was standing, grabbing the maple syrup to drown his pancakes in a healthy does of pure Canadian heaven, “you realize that this is a fanfiction, right? Which means that we can basically do anything that we want?” 

Nate blinked at him. 

“Or at least, anything that the author wants,” Wade quickly amended, “or anything that the author wants us to want. Which means that this could totally turn into a porno, but that's kinda already been done, though maybe not with the pancakes, but—”

“Wade,” Nate said, an amused smile curling at his lips. And did his right eye just flash slightly?

“Okay okay,” Wade said, raising his hands, which meant holding up his fork and plate piled high with pancakes, “seriously-seriously-seriously this time. You could go on vacation, Nate.” 

Nate blinked, looking even more confused. 

“Vacation?” Wade said again, giving him a funny look. “You do know what that word means, right? 'An extended period of recreation, especially one spent away from home or in traveling; the action of leaving something one previously occupied'—actually, the official definitions suck, because knowing you you'd just turn that into more work. But just, like, y'know—a break?” 

Nate's face did a funny thing where it kinda fell, and his expression was almost pitying as he looked at Wade, opening his mouth to say something, probably along the lines of: 'You know I can't do that.'  
“No,” Wade cut in sharply, eyes hard as he pointed his syrupy fork at the time-traveler. “Do not tell me that you can't do that. You were going to get yourself killed back there on Providence, weren't you? So just take the time that you would have been dead, before you got brought back to life, to just—not try to carry responsibility for the entire #$%@&^ world on your shoulders, okay?” 

Nate smiled at him softly, sadly. 

Wade glared at him before looking down and shrugging. “We could, y'know, steal a spaceship and fly around outer-space looking for trouble. We could go undercover secret ops and save the world in ways that nobody will ever know about. We could go to the Savage Land and learn how to lasso dinosaurs. We could go to a beach somewhere and give each other sunscreen massages.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. 

“What I'm saying is, we could do lots of things,” Wade said, looking back at him and narrowing his eyes, before widening them again and flinching back like he'd just gotten punched in the face. “You're about to correct me about that 'we' think I keep saying, aren't you? Because you have to leave and I can't come and technically we're divorced and there's no 'we' anymore and we have to go our own separate ways now, right?” 

“Wade...” Nate said, looking at him with an undecipherable expression as he set down his empty plate on the counter, taking a step closer to the merc. 

“No tearful goodbyes, I promise,” Wade said, holding up his hands and looking away. “We're not gonna spill all our feelings out to each other or anything, cuz that's not manly, or, or whatever. Y'know what? Don't even say anything, just go—oh,” he broke off, as he suddenly found himself in a tight hug, his face pressed into Nate's shoulder. “Hugs, huh? Okay, I can do hugs. You gonna give us a kiss, too?” 

Nate pulled back slightly, looking down at him. 

“I didn't mean it!” Wade said hurriedly, eyes wide. “I was joking! Seriously, I mean, why would—”

But then Nate's lips were on his, warm, soft, almost chaste. 

Wade was too stunned to react, his brown eyes open wide as Nate kissed him softly, eyes closed, T-O hand moving up to splay, cold, against the back of Wade's bald head. 

Nate pulled back, opening his eyes, looking down at Wade's shocked face. 

Nate smiled, as soft as the kiss had been. “Is it really that easy to shut you up?” 

“Shut up,” Wade growled, reaching his arms up around Nate's neck and pulling the larger man back down into a kiss, Wade closing his eyes and taking the lead this time. 

Nate chuckled against his mouth, and Wade took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, running his tongue along Nate's lips until they parted to allow access. 

“I do have to go,” Nate said, when they finally broke apart, gasping for breath. “There's a dire situation in the future that calls my attention.

Wade's brown eyes visibly dulled, his posture slumping. “Figures,” he mumbled, dropping his arms from Nate's neck and looking away, first at the opposite wall, but there was a rusty splatter there, so he looked down at the floor, but that was covered in trash and not much better. “Yeah, sure, okay, that's cool, kiss me and then leave—”

Nate's hand came up to cup Wade's cheek, turning the merc's head to face him. 

Nate was smiling, the#@%$!&. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.” 

“You know what, Priscilla,” Wade started immediately, “you can just go take your shiny metal @$$ and lea—wait,” his eyes widened as Nate's words caught up with his brain. “Did you just ask me to go with you? To help with your dire situation in the future?” 

“Yes,” Nate said with a slow-burn smile. 

“Will there be fighting?” Wade asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back as he grinned. 

“Lots,” Nate answered. 

“That's all I need to know!” Wade exclaimed excitedly, twirling away into the other room, calling back, “So, when do you we leave? How many of my guns should I pack? Can I bring my special DP grenades? Can I bring my laptop? Is there wifi in the future? If I bring my cellphone will I be able to call Weasel and Bob and let them know what's going on, or should I call them now?” 

Chuckling, Nate followed after the enthusiastic merc as he began gathering up his arsenal, which was scattered all over the apartment. “That depends on how many guns and grenades you have—  
“Oh,” Nate broke off, blue eyes wide as Wade came out of the bathroom with his arms full of weapons (where had all those been hidden?!) and then went into the hallway closet for more. “That's... a lot of weapons,” Nate managed. “And that's coming from me. What are you, Wade, a small country?” 

“No,” Wade grinned, large, gleeful, and sharp, as he dumped a frightening amount of explosives out on the floor, and then went back to digging in the closet fore more. “I'm a moderately sized country.” 

Nate huffed a laugh, and Wade pulled out of the closet with his arms full of sharp blades to seize his lips with a kiss. “And I protect what's mine.” 

“Oh, and I'm yours now, am I?” Nate teased with a smirk as Wade added the blades to his steadily growing pile of weapons, explosives, and artillery. “And here I was thinking that you were mine.” 

“Toe-may-toe toe-maw-toe,” Wade said, pointing a gun at him—only he was holding the gun backwards, so it was actually pointing at himself. “Hey, do they have bullets in the future, or do I need to bring ammo as well?” 

“I don't know how you're going to carry all that,” Nate said instead, eyeing the growing pile almost warily. Wade wasn't exaggerating by all that much when he said a 'moderately sized country.' He certainly had more guns than existed in all of the United Kingdom. 

“Oh don't worry, I'll store them in all the plotholes,” Wade said with a shrug and a grin. “You wouldn't believe how much you can fit in them.” 

Nate just shook his head, lips twitching upwards. 

xXx

It took a while for Wade to find all his weaponry, but finally, they both stood in the living room, staring at the mountain of highly dangerous materials. 

“I'm really glad you're alive, Nate,” Wade said softly from right beside him, his voice almost startling close. 

Turning to face him, Nate smiled, gripping his shoulders as he pulled the smaller man in for a kiss, which Wade returned eagerly, moaning softly. 

Pulling back just enough so his lips were a mere centimeter from the mercenary's, Nate said softly, his breath ghosting over Wade's lips: “I'm glad I'm alive, too.” 

“Good,” Wade growled out, voice even deeper than normal, his fists clenching in Nate's shirt. “Now don't ever go trying to stupidly sacrifice yourself like that ever again, y'hear me?” 

Nate barely managed to get out a “Yessir,” before he was yanked back into a rough kiss, and, his point made and conceded to, Wade was content not to keep talking.

**Author's Note:**

> My sister just wanted fluff, not necessarily Cablepool, but I wanted to make this story Cablepool, and she said kisses were okay, but she didn't want anything beyond that, so *shrugs* 
> 
> I still don't really know why I'm posting this. I should probably just have let it languish in a folder on my laptop...


End file.
